


Doctor, Doctor, Please

by Billywick, punkerbones



Series: Transformers various Roleplay Fiction [8]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Manipulation, Sticky Interfacing, coercion (as per usual thanks Tarn), robot surgical procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7608766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick, https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkerbones/pseuds/punkerbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How long had he planned this? The devious miscreant was smug enough to give him the idea that this was all in the works since the moment the beast had clapped optics on. Pharma had sold himself to the devil from the moment he had sought him out to make a despicable deal.</p><p>(because MTMTE #55 gives me heartache, here's a canon divergence AU where Pharma meets a different fate and Tarn has the unmistakable need to add another jewel to his collection)<br/>I never know what 'warnings' to attach to this pair, they are a convoluted mess of manipulation, hate and desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor, Doctor, Please

Busy. He just had to keep busy. Straighten the tools, check over the pressure and temperature of the container for the beautifully preserved, relatively unused T-Cog he’d be implanting today. It would probably hold up for five solar cycles under Tarn’s destructive obsession. Pharma had performed this procedure so many times in the recent vorn, he could do so without optics or monitoring equipment. He was so familiar with Tarn’s insides he could reconstruct the tankformer’s internal components from memory. Not that anyone should ever want to do so, but it was possible.

The medijet arranged his tools again, each one pristine and cleaned to the near mark of obsession. Tarn always made him wait. It was just another game that the terrifying and maddening tankformer liked to play. First, he made Pharma scramble, literally for his life, flying through blizzards and worse to reach the coordinates transmitted to him. Then, he’d have to board the Peaceful Tyranny and be greeted by various instruments of torture who just also happened to be the bots that Decepticons had recharge fluxes about.

And then he’d be delivered to this sinister medbay, coated in dark, muted colours and an unnerving noise dampening system. If Pharma halted his ventilation, and he frequently did to check for any background activity, he’d hear…nothing. It was perfectly silent. Not even the hum of the ship’s massive engine penetrated the eerie silence.

Pharma hated it. He hated the silence, the dreary, windowless walls, the singular slab tailored to frames more than triple his size and most of all, the long, unnerving wait for his patient.  
The only upside to being aboard this vessel of doom and destruction was the fact that its heating was much more capable than Delphi’s and his systems appreciated that after the ice and snow of the blizzard he’d braved for the sake of his deal. Survive. Survive and serve and one day…he’d be free.

But that day was not today. 

Today, he’d hope to replace Tarn’s t-cog once again and escape back into the cold embrace of the storm rather than suffer Tarn’s sadistic hospitality.  
His pace had been deliberately slowed, Tarn pausing to appreciate anything that even remotely caught his interest. He knew Pharma hated to be kept waiting…which is precisely why he wasted as much time as he possibly could. As much pomp and circumstance as the medic may have put forward, Tarn was the one in charge. He would not be swayed by a simple temper tantrum.

Finally, though, he arrived at the medbay, and the tankformer made a slow sigh as he took a mental recognition of his burned out T-cog. It could be replaced, easily enough, but the DJD leader had other things on his mind.  
Pharma would not be leaving after this surgery.

Whether it took finesse or force, Tarn had decided that the flier was to remain on the Peaceful Tyranny as a permanent resident. Medics had their definite uses, and, as arrogant as he may be, Pharma was so very useful.  
…and in so many ways.  
Striding into the medbay, Tarn turned his gaze to Pharma, smirking at the other. His hands clenched and unclenched reflexively as he looked the other over, helm tilting slightly with the motion.  
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Pharma,” Tarn stated, his voice smooth. “I trust you haven’t been waiting long?”

Oh, how Pharma hated that voice. The very sight of the tankformer had his wings slick down, trying to present as little possible area for an attack. Tarn didn’t even need to raise his voice let alone a finger. His presence alone commanded whatever he beheld.  
And how Pharma hated every moment of it. 

It was almost easy to fall into the maddening servitude Tarn expected from him. They’d played this game oh so many times, this dance, the same steps, terrifying, deadly and yet…  
No. Pharma did not find it invigorating to have his life be threatened at every turn. He found no pleasure in the command of another, let alone a despicable Decepticon.  
“Of course not,” he’d waited so long he had worn grooves into the side of the slab where his servos clenched and unclenched, “if you would get on the slab. Please. So that I can proceed. You must be in pain by now.”

Though he didn’t react, Tarn didn’t miss the fact that Pharma’s wings slicked down as far as the medic could muster. The masked tankformer could almost taste the disdain that rippled from Pharma’s EM field, and it only served to bring a faint, almost coy, grin to Tarn’s features.

He strode around, nodding slightly in answer to Pharma’s statement, but didn’t immediately climb onto the slab. There was still a little bit of Pharma’s patience left that Tarn wanted to tug and twist at. So, he inspected the tools that the medic had brought with him. Granted, he didn’t understand the uses for all of them and a few downright perplexed him, but that wasn’t something Pharma needed to know.

Glancing down at the medic, crimson gaze flicking over Pharma’s features, Tarn finally abided by the medic’s advice. True, he was in some pain upon having been denied the ability to transform and simply having a broken T-cog still inside his body, but again, that was something that Pharma didn’t need to see.  
Climbing onto the slab and laying back, Tarn breathed a low sigh through his ventilation system, gaze once again going back to Pharma.

“I have to say, I’m surprised you arrived, given the weather. It wasn’t too unpleasant, now, was it?”  
The concern was all feigned-well, mostly feigned. Tarn wasn’t going to deny that Pharma had talent, but if only his hands worked as fast as he ran that mouth of his…  
And they were both well aware of the fact that Pharma had little choice in arriving. If he had opted, in some strike of suicidal foolery, to tell Tarn that he couldn’t make it through the blizzard, then the tankformer would have been more than eager to pay Pharma a “visit”.

The asinine bastard. Pharma tucked his field in tightly, unwilling to give Tarn an ounce of him to read.  
He knew exactly how strong the stormy winds of Messatine were. He also knew intimately well what kind of elegance Pharma’s frame possessed, and that it was not built to cut through ice and snow.

Yet here he was, at Tarn’s beck and call, because a blizzard was a mere gentle breeze in terms of deadliness compared to Tarn’s ire. And the smug tankformer knew exactly that Pharma would obey, because he knew what was on the line. Not only his own life, but all those he was responsible for at Delphi…

“I don’t miss appointments,” he sniped, pouring his hatred into his tone as he bleached it from his words. Say nothing incriminating. Do not aggravate Tarn. That had been his code for survival during each one of these unpleasant visits. So far, so good. He was still alive. He didn’t want to think of the necessary sacrifices to get to this point.

“Are we finished speaking? I’d like to cut you open now.”  
Alright, he couldn’t possibly keep the sharp desire from that sentence.

Chuckling inwardly when Pharma withdrew his field, Tarn eyed the flier with amusement and the slightest hint of something else. The medic’s frame seemed to have held up well enough through the blizzard, so Pharma’s little tantrum was hardly valid.

“Indeed. And it’s a very good thing that you don’t,” Tarn affirmed, his voice low but still smooth. “One would shudder to think about a doctor that does miss their appointments. Would be such a terrible shame…”  
The initial curtness in Pharma’s tone only served to humor Tarn further. He loved getting right underneath the medic’s last nerve and then tugging at it slowly and methodically. It wasn’t like Pharma could really say much to the contrary, as Tarn could very easily have the final word in any argument they may have.

When Pharma spoke again, though, Tarn raised a helm ridge and smirked, even if the expression was hidden behind his faceplate.  
“Yes, we may begin, Pharma. Your eagerness to proceed, however, is rather tarnishing to your bedside manner.”

Pharma’s vents flared open, his optics blazing with indignation. But he was composed, he was in control, he wasn’t going to give Tarn the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him.  
The list of things he hated about Tarn was endless by now, but among the top rankings ones was the way the tankformer’s voice curled around his designation. As if it was a delectable treat he was devouring. And he wasn’t even using any special modulation to bring Pharma this level of discomfort, it was just how he spoke.

“I don’t like seeing my patients in distress. You’ve been favouring your left side, so your current cog probably burned out faster than I anticipated and you’re dealing with energon line decay which forms from the husk of it,”  
If he concentrated himself entirely on his professional aspect of being here, Pharma could ignore the taunting presence of Tarn that loomed even when the tankformer laid still on a slab.  
“Dampener?”

His smirk only widened at Pharma’s reaction, but Tarn knew that Pharma wasn’t going to say anything further. The medic knew when to keep that mouth of his shut, lest he wanted it shut permanently.

Tilting his helm to the side as Pharma explained his observations, Tarn made a slow chuckle and shifted his weight slightly on the slab. That was one of the things that he couldn’t deny about the medic; Pharma knew what he was talking about. For all of his pomp and arrogance, the medic was smart and had unmistakable talent.  
Which was one of the reasons that Tarn was willing to let the medic actually cut him open…  
“Your compassion is overwhelming, Pharma,” Tarn commented. “Though, I would daresay you are correct in your diagnosis.”

There was a moment of pause as Tarn considered the other’s offer. As much as he enjoyed the slow, methodical burn that surgical cuts could bring, there was the chance of involuntarily moving during the surgery, which could make things all the more worse.  
“If you would, yes, please,” Tarn purred.

The accomplished surgeon gave nothing more than a curt nod, keeping his optics firmly on Tarn’s midriff. Not that it wasn’t a nice view regardless, the tankformer’s biolighting was deceptively (how appropriate) soft and his plating well curved, but Pharma mostly didn’t want to meet the intensity of those optics, watching him, judging him. daring to act as if this horrific creature was anything but beneath him.

Tarn was a monster and he deserved nothing.

Especially not the expertise Pharma handled him with. He applied the dampener, waiting a polite five nanokliks for it to settle into Tarn’s systems before he picked up the laser scalpel.  
There was some satisfaction in slicing into the tankformer’s armor, truly, though he’d relish if he could cut some energon lines, soak his servos in Tarn’s death and laugh, he’d laugh if those optics ever stopped burning…

Pharma reeled his mind back from the fantasy, instead focusing on his work. He’d freed the access panel and lifted it, only to scrunch his face up in disgust as a black, gooey viscous liquid greeted him along a very foul, burned odour.

“…As I thought. How did you even walk with this inside of you,” he shook his helm, fingers sliding along the rim of the t-cog casing. It was already blackened, the energon lines blocked by thick goblets of molten cog.  
“Slag, Tarn.”

He calculated the number of transformations it would take to bring a cog into such ruination, but the result was astronomical. Comical, almost.  
Though he could hear the laser cutting into his armor, Tarn felt practically nothing. The dampener was doing its job quite well, and the Decepticon didn’t even notice when the panel was pulled away. He could, however, still hear Pharma, and when the medic spoke, Tarn quirked a helm ridge, though the action was a bit lazy due to the dampener.

“…hmn…you make it sound…almost bad,” Tarn commented, resisting the urge to flex his numb hands.

The sensation of Pharma’s digits on his T-cog, no matter how burned out, was almost surreal. Tarn made a quiet hum, his own digits lightly sliding up and down along the berth, and his gaze flicked over to Pharma.  
“I trust the…replacement…lasts longer?”

Frowning inwardly at how his speech sounded, Tarn opted to simply wait for Pharma’s answer. No need to let the medic know how well the dampener was working.

“It’s a better build. It’ll last you a little longer than this.” Pharma pincered the last sad remains of Tarn’s current cog between two fingers and tugged at it. It almost came loose completely, which was never a good sign for such a vital component.

Pharma only had to cut three energon lines, thin little openings that bled lazily. The bigger issue was the molten, stinking liquid filling Tarn’s cog chamber. That would have to be cleaned out before the beautiful new cog from a very unknowing and unwilling donor would be delicately attached to the now empty, filthy cradle.  
“I have to clean this out,” Pharma was too focused on his work to pay close attention to the fuzzy quality of Tarn’s eloquence.

“Good…very good,” Tarn murmured, gaze flicking down to watch Pharma’s hands work. The sight of his own Energon was nothing alarming, and the fact that the medic worked with such expertise only calmed the tankformer further.  
Seeming to slightly perk up when Pharma mentioned cleaning out the chamber, Tarn looked up at the medic, his vision slightly blurred from the dampener.  
“Of course. I can…only trust in your medical knowledge,” Tarn replied, his voice still smooth, despite the dampener.

Indulging himself a little, what with Pharma this close, Tarn let a hand reach over and a single digit tip traced up along Pharma’s thigh. The action was accompanied by a pleased purr from the tankformer, his gaze flicking up to Pharma’s.  
“Whatever the good doctor advises.”

Pharma’s pride prickled with vague delight at the notion that Tarn acknowledged his superior medical skill, but giving voice to that was wiped off of his processor with the delicate and entirely inappropriate touch. Tarn’s servo was large and warm and had no qualms about attempting to distract him from his work. Pharma’s vents opened again, but he kept his vocalizer firmly under control. He was a brilliant surgeon, it would take more than a suggestive caress to deter him from performing what he was here for.

Draining the fluid was finicky work, since Tarn had a lot of cracks in his t-cog chamber. Unsurprising, what with his addiction, but still very irritating to deal with. Pharma reached for his tools, scraping the energon lines clean and stemming the thin trickle bleeding from them. His own servos were bearing stains of the dark liquid, but at least the open area he was working on was now clean. 

The new cog was prepared and ready and golden even in the muted light of this medbay and Pharma held it up for Tarn to see.

“…Look at this ventricular lining,” he admired the organ for a moment longer before settling it into Tarn’s awaiting cradle. From here on out, the procedure was just a repetition of motion, soldering and reattaching the fuel lines into the new, pristine cog.

Pharma couldn’t wait to be done with this. He’d even brave the blizzard a second time, just to escape the unbearable heat that encompassed the prone frame beneath his touch.  
He sealed the little hatch, welding thin seams along Tarn’s armor. Tiny cosmetic blemishes that came along with frequent surgery.

“I’m finished.”

Smirking when Pharma didn’t respond to the touch, Tarn continued to let his digit lazily trace up and down the medic’s thigh. He only stopped when he felt the fluid being drained out of his T-cog chamber, his smirk briefly replaced by a grimace.

The sensation didn’t hurt, per say, but it certainly wasn’t a comfortable feeling, either. Holding still and relinquishing to the grip of the dampener, Tarn simply watched as Pharma finished cleaning out the chamber.

When the T-cog was held up, Tarn looked over it, though admittedly with less adoration than Pharma. The tankformer knew that it was only a matter of time before that T-cog suffered the same fate as the one it was replacing. Not that it bothered Tarn, but he saw little reason to revel in the T-cog’s appearance the way the medic did.

Feeling the dampener start to slowly wear off as Pharma sealed his armor back into place, Tarn clenched both hands as feeling began to return to them. When the medic stated that he was done, Tarn slowly sat up, stifling a low groan of effort as he did so.

Glancing over when he saw Pharma cleaning the acrid, dark substance, Tarn slid off the slab and stood up straight, stretching to try and rid his frame of the last, lingering bits of stiffness.  
“I appreciate your work and I do hope you brought all the tools you need with you, Pharma,” the tankformer stated, glancing down at the medic. “Seeing as how you’ll be staying on board this ship.”

The delicate tool Pharma had been cleaning clattered from his grip. His relief shattered into horror as he turned to see whether or not Tarn was serious.  
He could have saved himself the trouble, the DJD commander did not make jokes, especially not pertaining to him.

“What? For how long? You can’t be serious…I have a facility to run!” He could not keep the undignified tone from his vocalizer, which climbed up a full octave in response to these most unhappy news.

His servos clenched and the desperate urge to flee cycled his vents open, as if he’d be able to simply flee the situation with a transformation.

Being trapped here aboard the Tyranny seemed a fate worse than death, and he’d like to avoid either if he possible.

His expression remained calm, even in the midst of Pharma’s outburst, and Tarn merely tilted his head to the side slightly when the medic began to balk at his offer. Well, it wasn’t an offer, really…more like an order, but Tarn could at least make it sound like an offer.

“Consider this a promotion, of sorts,” Tarn stated, glancing over the digits on his left hand before turning his gaze back to Pharma. “You’re to be a permanent addition to the crew as the DJD’s medic, and I expect no less than the utmost performance from you.”

Taking a few steps towards the medic, Tarn set his index digit underneath Pharma’s chin, the smirk he now wore visible even beneath his faceplate. The panic that Pharma appeared to be in was almost humorous, and Tarn resisted the urge to chuckle at the horrified expression the medic wore.

“Besides, you’re always complaining about the other two medics you have to work with, are you not? Consider this a…permanent reprieve from them. If anything, you should be thanking me, given that you will no longer have to work around them and will be supplied with whatever tools and resources you need.”

He was serious. Tarn really meant to keep him here. Desperation met indignation and Pharma slumped in the grip. This was the endgame. Tarn was removing any semblance of their deal offering benefits to both sides…Pharma had basically offered himself to try out for the position of playing doctor to the DJD.

He’d been such a fool. 

“How long have you planned this?”

Was he ever really in a position to keep Delphi safe, or had he sold himself to Tarn from the moment he’d come to negotiate?

Helpless rage kept his servos clenched.  
“I’m not a Decepticon,” he hissed defiantly, “and I never will be.”

His smirk never wavered, and Tarn watched as the medic seethed and fumed under the new conditions that had been placed on him. When Pharma’s posture slumped slightly, Tarn allowed himself a quiet chuckle as his digit moved away from Pharma’s chin.

“Hm…a while,” he responded in answer to Pharma’s first question. “You’ve said so yourself, numerous times, I might add, that you’re the best in your field. Why would I want to settle for anything but the best medic available?”

When Pharma vowed that he would never be a Decepticon, Tarn’s smirk faded slightly, but he quickly waved a hand dismissively. Whether or not Pharma intended to pledge his loyalties as a Decepticon was, currently, a secondary matter. That could be adjusted…later.  
“Suit yourself,” Tarn said airily. “Bear in mind it may affect your treatment on board the ship, but if you insist on being so stubborn about the insignia you wear, so be it.”

A flash of cruelty flicked across Tarn’s features, and he leaned forward once again, this time lightly stroking the side of Pharma’s helm. The action, however, was completely devoid of any real affection, and carried only a demeaning superiority.

“Welcome aboard the Peaceful Tyranny, Pharma.”

A lesser mech might have broken down, begged, pleaded. But Pharma reduced his outrage and terror to a singular glare, one he wouldn’t usually dare direct at Tarn but this new arrangement was truly the pinnacle of insult done to the forged medic.  
Some part of him, his pride most likely, preened though. Tarn was right in only one thing; Pharma was the best. And any commander worth his pistons ought to be coveting such a medic under their command.

Being a captive of the DJD…it absolved him of a lot.  
The epiphany of that brought an unwarranted smirk to his lips. He was…free. And captured at the same time. Now, he didn’t have to slaughter his patients anymore. He wouldn’t have to fret about his life, his reputation, the lives of those under his supervision…

His vents made a few heavy circulations as he processed his new personal hell.  
Pharma had a million questions, but one struck him as more important than any other.

“What about Delphi? Will you leave…them be if I agree to…serving you faithfully?” 

Although the glare that Pharma favored him with was a scathing and spiteful one, Tarn only chuckled again in response. The medic had absolutely no clout in this situation, and they both knew it. While he wasn’t looking to physically harm Pharma, Tarn had his own ways of getting the medic to buckle to his demands.

Watching as Pharma appeared to mull over his new living conditions, Tarn shifted his weight and shrugged his shoulders slightly, feeling the surgical welds tug. They would regain their flexibility in time, and so long as they held, as they always did, Tarn would have no complaints.  
Finally, Pharma spoke up, and Tarn seemed borderline surprised by the fact that the medic was trying to broker terms of his stay. Had it been coming from anyone else, Tarn might have been irritated by the attempt, but Pharma did have a decent point.

“Is this your attempt at negotiations, Pharma?” Tarn asked, sounding mildly amused. “I’m surprised you think you really have any room to ask such a thing.”

Even so, Tarn thought about what Pharma was asking. Currently, the only reason that they had ever gone to Delphi was standing right in front of him. While that may change in the future, that was something that Pharma would just have to be willing to accept.

“So long as neither of your former compatriots manage to get themselves on the List, I see no reason to go back to Delphi if you do agree to be the medic on board this ship.”

Well, it was a small relief. At least he wouldn’t be responsible for First Aid or Ambulon’s death. Of course it was always dangerous on Messatine, but without the DJD’s presence, that danger was lessened severely.

So this was really it. He was…a captive, a prisoner, working for nothing more than his own survival. No fame, no prestige, no respect bound to his designation.  
If he didn’t hate Tarn before, he certainly did now. The negotiations, such as they were, were now concluded and he was stuck in the awkward position of having no certainty about his future at all.

Was he supposed to live in this medbay? Some cabinet? 

“Very well. I’ll work for you,” he bristled a little, vents closing but wings perked with irritation.  
“My accommodations?”

What patience Tarn had with the medic was starting to fade, regardless of the fact that the DJD leader had sprung this arrangement with no warning and no real choice in the matter. He had started to warn Pharma of said waning patience, but the medic finally voiced his agreement.

“Excellent,” Tarn said, patting Pharma lightly on the shoulder. He tilted his head to the side. “See? That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

When the flier inquired about where he would be staying, Tarn nodded. He had already had a room prepared for Pharma, given that Tarn had already known what Pharma’s answer to his offer would be.

“Yes, you will have your own room.” The tankformer glanced down at the medic, appearing somewhat insulted that Pharma would assume otherwise. “It was, at one point, an interrogation room, but it’s been cleaned up and cleared out of any equipment that was used for its original purpose. The basic furnishings are in there, and the recharge berth works well. Any sort of…decorating that you wanted to do, you’ll need to do yourself.”  
Walking to the doorway of the medbay, Tarn motioned for Pharma to follow him.  
“If you’ll follow me, my dear medic, I’ll show you to your room.”

He’d have time enough to complain about his accommodations later. An interrogation room, didn’t that just sound welcoming and warming as expected of the DJD?  
Well, as long as it had solid walls and a door, Pharma wouldn’t care. As long as he could keep out the terrible visages and nightmare-quality frames of the DJD, he wouldn’t care.  
As long as Tarn didn’t swoop in every couple of minutes to frighten him to death, he wouldn’t lose one word about being put up in a Decepticon ship. Well…he was the Tyranny’s CMO now, in a manner of speaking.

Something about that prickled his pride and the medijet’s walk didn’t resemble the hurried, cowed steps he usually moved through the ship with. 

“You prepared for this…I’m surprised you’re not keeping me in a cage.”

Noticing, and somewhat appreciative, of the fact that Pharma’s steps were not the normally skittish ones that only irritated Tarn, the tankformer led the medic down the hallway. It was quiet, as per usual, and the only sounds were their footfalls, which echoed down the hallway.

“A cage? Don’t be so dramatic, Pharma,” Tarn scoffed. “Although, should I be? I can assure you that the repercussions for any attempt at trying to escape and shirk your duties will be quite severe.”

Upon reaching the doorway to the room, Tarn unlocked the door and stepped aside. True to the tankformer’s word, the room was furnished, albeit with the most basic of essentials. The walls were bare and the bedding for the recharge berth was modest, at best.

Even so, any remnants that may have been left from previous interrogation victims had been cleaned away, and, short of the shackle couplings that were still at the corners of the berth, there was no equipment that betrayed the room’s initial purpose.

“I trust you find this to your satisfaction?” Though it was presented as a question, there was really very little left to debate, and Tarn looked down at Pharma expectantly.

“It….will suffice,” Pharma couldn’t keep the distaste from his faceplate at all. These were accommodations for a soldier at best and although he had grown used to sparse surroundings and the absence of luxury on Delphi, he still would have expected more out of Tarn. Somehow, he had a vision of finery, music and a personal heating column in mind.

“…I suppose you want me to linger here until you summon me?”

Smirking at the sound of Pharma’s disdain, Tarn opted not to bother giving it a response. The medic would be free to decorate his quarters as he saw fit in the future. For now, Tarn meant to ensure that Pharma didn’t try to escape the Tyranny until they had put considerable distance between themselves and Delphi.

“Good,” Tarn stated with a nod. “Once I’m assured that you’re not going to try and back out of our new arrangement, you may decorate your quarters as you wish.”

At Pharma’s question, Tarn turned to the medic, optics narrowed slightly as a cruel smirk flitted across his scarred lips.

“You’re quite astute, Pharma. You will indeed remain here until you are summoned. Though, bear in mind…” Tarn leaned forward and hooked a digit until Pharma’s chin, lifting the medic’s gaze to his own, smoldering, crimson one. “You may be summoned for something more than just medical needs.”

His plating prickled with the unpleasantly close proximity of Tarn’s EM-field. It wasn’t enough that the tankformer loomed over him, doubled him in width alone.  
Pharma tugged his chin from the grasp, a snarl twisting his lips though it never found his vocalizer.

“You took me on as your medic, not your pleasure drone.”  
He didn’t exactly have a work contract, but he could try to barter with Tarn’s patience for his behaviour. These new grounds had to be tested, his boundaries probed. Tarn wanted him alive. That meant he could afford himself a little personal privilege.

And maybe…maybe he wanted to see how far he could get, how clear he could make it to the commander of the DJD that he would not be a willing pet.

There was the briefest moment that Tarn appeared almost complacent with Pharma’s obvious display of refusal. …and then his crimson optics flared and Tarn grabbed Pharma’s chin, though this time, there was no gentleness or care in the action.

Digit tips almost crushing the medic’s derma, Tarn leaned down and at the same time pulled Pharma up to him, disregarding the fact that he was almost lifting the medic up and off the floor. His other hand clasped hard around the back of Pharma’s helm, gripping it so that Pharma couldn’t move without possibly hurting himself.

“I beg your pardon, Pharma,” Tarn hissed, his faceplate a mere breath away from Pharma’s face. “But I am the one who will make and edit the rules of you working and staying here as I see fit.”

His grip intensified just enough to let Pharma know that the medic had pushed his luck a little too far this time, and that Tarn was not pleased with the blatant act of insubordination.  
“You will earn whatever leeway I allow you, not demand it.” Again, the cruel grin spread across Tarn’s features, showing a brief flash of dentae, and the tankformer’s voice lowered  
considerably. “”

As if Pharma’s spark wasn’t pulsating enough from the sudden and harsh vicegrip on his helm and face, Tarn had the nerve to use his accursed voice to pull it into his thrall.  
The medijet gave a strangled little moan of pain, wishing to be three planets away from Tarn and this ship and its nightmare crew, but life was cruel and fate a twisted, fickle master.  
He’d pushed too hard, objected too obviously. This boundary had collapsed on him with a vicious snarl and his frame trembled in the undignified position. He couldn’t exactly stand like this, barely in touch with the ground and being pulled up by the helm.

He couldn’t exactly talk either, though his optics blazed with fury and terror. Nodding was an impossibility too.

He could both hear and feel Pharma’s spark jerk and flutter under his Voice’s clutch, and Tarn chuckled dourly at the medic’s pained moan. However, it did nothing to help relinquish Tarn’s grip on the flier’s chin and helm. There was a point to be made here, and the tankformer intended to ensure that Pharma understood said point with crystal clarity.

“I trust you understand the mistake you made,” Tarn continued, his voice still a steely hiss. “And I believe it is safe to say that you will not repeat such a grievous error. Am I correct?”  
Even though he knew that Pharma couldn’t move in his grip, Tarn still waited for a moment for an answer. He then lowered the flier slightly and slowly forced Pharma’s head to nod, smirking as he did so.

“Good. So glad to see that we could come to this agreement.”  
Then, as suddenly as Tarn’s ire had been raised, it seemed to dissipate, and he relinquished his hold on Pharma’s chin and helm. Standing up straight and giving the medic an almost approving smile and nod, Tarn glanced around the room.

“Now, then… Was there anything else you wanted to bring to my attention, Pharma?”  
He almost stumbled as he regained a more solid acquaintance with the ground, but Pharma kept himself upright. He was not going to sprawl on the floor before Tarn, he’d rather have his wings torn off than bow to this despicable Decepticon.

Whom he now worked for. That was a desolating and sobering fact.  
Pharma coughed, checking on the status of his faceplate with a swift and tender touch of his servo. Everything was intact, nothing dented. For now.

“N-no. Nothing.”

He did allow himself to sit down on the berth in Tarn’s presence though, no longer trusting his legs to keep him upright. This set of circumstances was dire and the threat to his life very much continued to be real.

And yet he desperately needed to press his panel against the cool of the berth because Tarn’s voice…it had unfortunate side effects on him.

Watching with a slightly raised helm ridge as Pharma stepped over to the berth and sat down, Tarn noticed something…else about the medic. He smirked knowingly and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He waited only a moment before striding over so that he was in front of the medic, towering over the smaller mech.

“Nothing at all, Pharma?” the tankformer purred, his voice low, but this time missing the steely anger that had been coating it just moments ago.

Leaning forward, bracing himself with one hand on the edge of the berth, Tarn let his other hand trail down the front of Pharma’s chassis before reaching the top seam of the medic’s interface panel.

Even though his digit tips barely flitted across the seam, Tarn could feel the unmistakable heat rising up from the panel. He chuckled and leaned a little closer to Pharma.  
“Are you so certain of that statement?” the tankformer purred as his hand massaged against the panel firmly.

A heavy hiss escaped Pharma at the frank touch. Tarn was so unabashed about personal contact, it was rude, shameless and utterly…infuriating. He couldn’t quite square away the obvious heat rising through him with anger though. Damn Tarn. Truly, damn him to the pits for doing this to Pharma. When had he sunk so low that a simple touch, a violent one at that, and the threat of spark manipulation activated his protocols? Behind the heated panel, he felt his valve contract with eager greed for what lingered beyond the covering.  
Pharma manually controlled the damn thing to remain shut. Tarn knew too well what he was doing and the medic wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being a wanton, dripping whore for him.

“What are you insinuating?”

They both knew this game rather well. Tarn with his massive servos that could so easily bring pain and pleasure to Pharma’s trembling frame…His vents opened wide, bringing in cool air to keep the medijet moderately cool.

His grin only widened when he heard Pharma hiss in response to his touch, and, instead of making him slow or cease his actions, it only encouraged them. Tarn continued to massage at the hot panel, humming inquisitively to the medic. 

“Oh, come now, Pharma,” Tarn murmured, his voice taking on a heady tone. “You know good and well what I’m both offering and insinuating.”

Once again locking onto Pharma’s fluttering spark pulses, Tarn listened to them before continuing.

“You’ve been so tense since you first arrived on the ship. It’s not healthy for you to be carrying so much stress, and I’m sure that some relief from it would do you good.”

His digit tips momentarily reached over to run along the edges of Pharma’s interface panel, wordlessly coaxing it to try and open. Summoning his Voice once again, Tarn changed the tone ever so slightly. Just as easily as he could inflict misery, he could incite…other sensations as well.  
“And, as your employer, it would only make sense that I tend to such needs of yours…?”

There was no way he could disobey. Even if Pharma felt capricious enough to defy such an insinuated order, the voice would not be denied.  
Though at least Tarn hadn’t ordered him open just yet. Pharma couldn’t do much about the needy moan torn from his vocalizer.  
“How attentive you are. Are you like this with all of your subordinates?” It was daring, considering that he could almost feel Tarn’s grip around his very being. He didn’t want to feel like this, heated, wanton, hating Tarn with deep relish.  
His panel was almost humming with heat, and he already knew there would be a gush of messy lubricants spilling once he did open.

The DJD leader didn’t cease or even slow the massaging at Pharma’s interface panel, instead choosing to relish the promising warmth rising up from underneath it. Another low, heady chuckle, one that was now laced with carnal desire, thrummed from Tarn’s vocalizer when he heard the medic moan.

“Only if my subordinate is in need of being tended to thoroughly and with great attention,” Tarn replied, leaning forward so that his voice brushed against the side of Pharma’s helm teasingly.  
While he wasn’t going to deny the heat that was growing between his own legs, Tarn’s focus was solely on Pharma at the moment. He let his Voice coil around Pharma’s spark once again, leaving ripples of tantalization in its wake.

“ Open that hot interface panel so that I can tend to that stress you’re carrying,” Tarn purred, his grip on the edge of the berth intensifying as he felt his own desire flare momentarily. “It’s for your benefit, after all.”

The sensation was like molten fire, scorching up through his systems and the curses on Pharma’s mind turned into senseless moaning. Yes, yes he wanted that, the horrible tankformer’s wonderful servo right there. His hips twitched, jerked as his valve constricted, wanting more than just the teasing sensation. Together with the way his spark pulsed frantically for Tarn’s voice, it was an indescribable, almost painful kind of lust that took over all of his rational mind. 

Tarn drove him to madness, and the fragger enjoyed it too. If Pharma could think coherently, he would have a seething remark about the tankformer’s own heat, which wafted off of him in great, encouraging waves. But Tarn wouldn’t give in to a little lust, no matter how Pharma’s field, frame and spark pulsed with arousal.

“Yes…Tarn, yes…!” 

He didn’t care how loud and wanton his voice came out. He just wanted Tarn to give him what he craved, what his legs slackened for and his hips twitched, shoving at those fingers best he could.

His digits continued to rub firm circles across Pharma’s node, Tarn watching the medic writhe and squirm under his touch with a hungry gaze. He smirked at the sounds of Pharma’s moans, slowly beginning to increase the speed at which his digits were working on the flier’s node.  
Intermittently, his digit tips would dip down to the drenched, heated entrance to Pharma’s valve, drawing up a fresh dab of hot lubricant so that he could spread it around the hard node. Though his digits were now slick with the viscous fluid, Tarn kept his actions steady and firm, continuing to watch the medic’s reactions.

The heat that was simmering through his frame and making his insides tighten in growing anticipation flared when Pharma cried out, and Tarn raised a helm ridge, a low chuckle thrumming from the DJD leader.

“There you go, Pharma. Much better,” Tarn purred, thumb digit once again running across the medic’s bottom lip. “When you tell me what you want, then I can more easily attend to said .”

Making a quiet, almost curious hum, Tarn let his index and middle digits slide down Pharma’s exterior node and teasingly slip just a little ways inside the flier’s taut valve, a pleased groan slipping from the DJD leader’s vocalizer at the heat and tension that greeted his two digits.  
“My, my, Pharma…ever so eager.”

Pharma was working hard to resist the sheer intensity of sensation shaking his systems. Tarn was a despicable, masterful sadist who wielded pleasure as easily as pain. 

The medijet didn’t know which he’d prefer anymore, because resisting the draw of that pleasure was getting more and more difficult. His body ached and begged to be allowed a loss of control. His valve was clenching, calipers clicking even though there was nothing to contract or expand around. Even the unsatisfying, thick two fingers were enough to have Pharma taut with anticipation.

He was all too eager for this and he couldn’t even stop the moans leaking from his vocalizer, just as he couldn’t prevent himself from the wet mess of lubricants squeezing from his valve, slicking over his thighs and new berth…

The depth with which he hated Tarn bordered on mad desire for the DJD commander…the raw power of him, the intimidating strength, the grip his voice had on Pharma’s very spark…  
It was a tormenting torrent of mixed emotions that ultimately fell flat of the raw lust all of his sensors and systems were registering. It took momentous restraint for Pharma not to frag himself on those fingers and pay close attention to the digit on his faceplate. His intake closed around Tarn’s thumb and he gave a little wanton suck, admiring it with the soft and eager press of his glossa.

He wouldn’t beg until Tarn made him, but that didn’t stop him from looking his most seductive.

A low groan rumbled from the tankformer’s chassis when he felt the soft suckling at his thumb, and a chuckle soon accompanied the initial, contented sound as Tarn watched with a dimly glowing, heady gaze. His digit tips continued to work up and down the entrance of Pharma’s valve, occasionally pausing to tease at the exterior node.

“Clever, clever, Pharma,” Tarn hummed, pressing his thumb just a little further into the medic’s mouth. “And talented in so many ways.”

His index and middle digits mimicking his thumb, Tarn then proceeded to press the two digits in to Pharma’s taut valve, smirking as he felt the drenched, mesh walls reflexively try to clench around them.

“And so very, very ,” the tankformer continued, his voice dipping down to a low purr.  
Digits slowly moving along the mesh walls of Pharma’s valve, drawing up as much warm lubricant as they could, letting it slide down along the digits and then Tarn’s hand before dripping onto the already fluid-smeared berth, Tarn made a thoughtful noise as he tilted his head to the side slightly, faceplate still quite close to Pharma’s own face.

“Although, I’m starting to garner that you would prefer me to use something else by now, am I right, Pharma?”

Oh, he wasn’t even ashamed anymore. Pharma could feel the pleasure rush through him, every tug of Tarn’s voice on his spark only worsened it tenfold.

This was one of the deepest reason to relish his hatred for Tarn. The mech could put him in this state, wanton and open and so wet, just because of his fingers, his touches, his pit-spawned voice…

If only the tankformer could stop talking and just do what they both knew to be inevitable. Pharma didn’t want to beg, it was beneath him, a forged medic such as himself, a flightframe no less, was never short of suitors.

True, the choices at Delphi had been slim to none, but he sure as Pit wouldn’t pick a filthy Decepticon with enormous hands, a smooth voice and a tantalizingly large spike…  
No! He didn’t want to beg. No matter how good Tarn’s fingers felt in him, no matter how he shifted his hips to get just a little bit more, more…he wanted to feel full…Pharma would feel humiliated, embarrassed and angry with himself later, he always did.  
He sucked harder at the fingers in his mouth, rolling his optics to stare at Tarn with utter want written into his expression.

The simmering, wet heat between his legs was almost too much to ignore, but Tarn refused to turn his attention away from Pharma. The tankformer wasn’t about to let the medic know what their talented little glossa was doing to him, at least, not yet. Instead, Tarn let the flier continue to wordlessly implore at him with both their mouth and those cerulean optics that a certain, almost appealing, madness lay beneath.

“Hmn…Pharma, you’re getting rather insistent, now aren’t you?” Tarn chuckled, reluctantly letting his now oral fluid coated digits slide out of the medic’s mouth. “But I’m being terribly rude and making you try to talk with your mouth full…”

His digits once again slid deep into Pharma’s valve, though this time, Tarn curled them upwards just enough to brush against the hypersensitive cluster of sensors on the top of the mesh walls, but not enough to do much more than only add a little bit more stimulation. …nothing enough to get Pharma anywhere close to an overload.

“Now then, allow me to repeat my question now that your mouth isn’t full,” the tankformer purred. “Are you wanting me to use something else in that taut valve of yours?”

It was almost something to be called torture, this horrible teasing that Tarn was inflicting upon him. Pharma wanted to wince, he wanted to mewl, he wanted to make all of these sounds and yet denied them to Tarn’s audials. He already knew what he was doing to the medic…Who could definitely, if he concentrated, pick up on the sound of Tarn’s fans. This was certainly not leaving the tankformer cold. And that was Pharma’s saving grace, in a way. He had an effect on Tarn, and how many bots could lay claim to that?

His protocols were frantically pinging him to continue on with the interfacing, but he stubbornly refused the confirmation.

Oral lubricant dripped over his pristine, pale faceplate as he looked up at Tarn, optics burning with lingering resentment for his tormentor. And a dominating layer of lust.  
“You’re really…going to make me…” he twitched, frame shuddering with the continued, enticing motions of Tarn’s fingers.

Damn his pride to the Pits, he wanted something more substantial filling his valve and he knew exactly Tarn was aching for it too.

It was going to be on him to get them further. He was already Tarn’s prisoner. He might as well commit himself to one of the only benefits of his new position.  
“Please…please spike me, Tarn. I need it. I need it so much.”

The DJD leader had only nodded slowly when Pharma had started to ask if he really intended to make the medic beg. To a certain degree, Tarn was a little surprised that Pharma would even ask that. This wasn’t the first time that the tankformer had made the flier beg, and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Chuckling, Tarn slowly withdrew his digits from Pharma’s valve, but not before giving the exterior node another, firm massage, aiming to send flashes of stimulation up through the medic.  
“Very good, Pharma,” Tarn hummed, gripping Pharma’s hips and pulling the flier to him so that he was then situated between Pharma’s spread legs. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You were even considerate enough to say ‘please’.”

As he spoke, Tarn’s interface panel slid away, spike pressurizing, and the tankformer leaned forward enough to press Pharma a little ways back onto the berth. As he did so, Tarn gripped Pharma’s legs, holding the flier steady as he let the head of his spike teasingly brush against the lubricant soaked entrance of Pharma’s valve.

Adjusting his grip so that he was clutching at Pharma’s hips, Tarn slowly guided his spike into Pharma’s valve, a low hiss escaping the tankformer as the slick, tight, and hot mesh walls enveloped his spike, lubricant welling up and slipping around the ridges of his spike. Overload charges flaring excitedly in response, Tarn’s digit tips began to dig in against Pharma’s hips, the tankformer never taking his gaze of Pharma, intent on watching the medic’s response.  
Pressing in until the base of his spike was flush against Pharma’s valve entrance, Tarn rocked back and forth slowly for a few moments, savoring the carnally tantalizing sensations, a heady chuckle purring from his vocalizer.

Finally. That was the first and foremost though on Pharma’s mind, but it certainly wasn’t what came from his vocalizer. His optics hazed, unfocused as his attention was fully directed to the thick intrusion, his valve expanding and clasping with greed at the tankformer’s spike.  
Tarn’s girth and size were not unfamiliar parameters to him it at all, and yet they surprised him anew every time their interactions boiled down to this. Pharma wished he had something to claw his servos into other than the hard and smooth surface of the berth. 

There was a dull little thud as Tarn settled himself fully inside of the medijet and it was then, with that sizable spike pressed entirely against hyper-sensitive clusters that Pharma let out a wailing moan. He cared little for how well and far his voice carried. As far as he was concerned, the entire DJD was well aware of the purpose of their new onboard medic anyway.  
And to be honest, right now, pleasure was the only thing on his mind. His vents were wide open, sucking in air furiously. His turbine whined, his engines rumbled.

“Tarn….” he tried to put as much impatience and desire as he could into the one word, the designation he hated and wanted so deeply.

Pharma knew how this would go. How Tarn would frag him until he was nothing but a keening mess of lubricants, transfluid and overload after overload.  
And by Primus, did Pharma want that right now.

Grinning and massaging at Pharma’s hips as the medic moaned and writhed in front of him, Tarn made a pleased noise when he heard Pharma’s delighted, and very audible, sounds. Leaning forward, groaning as he felt the mesh walls of the medic’s valve reflexively clench around his spike, Tarn chuckled and put his faceplate close to Pharma’s own face.  
Pharma wasn’t the only one that didn’t mind being vocal during encounters like this. In fact, Tarn relished the noises and cries that Pharma made when the DJD leader fragged him and brought him to overload over and over.

They let Tarn know just how much the flier was enjoying himself…  
“Yes, Pharma?” Tarn crooned, even as the faintest hint of desire managed to tremble through his voice as he withdrew until only the head of his spike remained in the medic’s valve. “Is -” The tankformer thrust hard back into Pharma, a growl rumbling from him as his overload charges flared to almost searing levels of want. “-what you wanted?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, though, and withdrew again before sliding back into Pharma’s inviting valve. Lubricant spurted around his spike as the girth stretched the medic’s valve walls, the first gleams of opalescent transfluid from Tarn’s spike beginning to mingle with the thick, warm fluid. Setting a slow, but steadily increasing pace, the DJD leader watched Pharma’s expression for a few moments, his thumb digits continuing to massage at the medic’s hips as each thrust shuddered the flier’s frame.

“You feel divine,” the tankformer purred, pressing the mouth slit of his faceplate against Pharma’s parted lips. “My dear medic.”

Tarn inside of him was so good, it was awful. Awful that this monster gave him this amount of pleasure, that he wanted nothing more to writhe his way to a glorious overload on that thickness filling him up.

The tankformer really didn’t need to add his infernal voice and proximity to the mixture, Pharma was already overly imbued with all things Tarn.

But the medic would not be brought to his finish quite so easily. He couldn’t allow Tarn such a victory without working harder for it. His legs clamped around the broad waist, struggling to do so without a howl of a moan. He lifted his face, just a little, and his lips were flush against Tarn’s mask. Oh, the smooth, warm surface of it felt so…good.

Pharma had no qualms about dedicating himself, moulding his mouth to the mask, pressing forsaken kisses to it, glossa flicking out to lick as he pleased. He couldn’t keep the noises from escaping his vocalizer, even with his mouth so occupied.

His spark was strobe-lighting frantically inside of his chest, enticed by the sharp little pricks of pleasure Tarn’s voice hooked into it.  
Say what you will about the DJD leader, but he could bring Pharma the most intensive overloads he’d ever experienced. 

Not yet though. He pulled the tankformer in tighter with his legs, arms wrapped around his helm to keep himself in position. Tarn’s fingers still crushing the delicate plating of his hips.  
His pleased chuckle turned into a low groan as Pharma’s lips worked across his faceplate, though, when he felt the other’s glossa flick across the armor, Tarn made a short grunt and lifted up just enough that he could study the medic’s features.

“My, my…someone is quite eager,” Tarn purred, grinning. “And forward!”  
Emphasizing his last word with another, rough thrust, groaning and making a heady growl when he felt the warm lubricant spurt around the base of his spike, Tarn leaned back down suddenly, pressing the mouth slit of his faceplate firmly against Pharma’s lips.

Tarn gripped the medic’s thighs to hold Pharma steady and keep their legs wrapped around his waist as his pace began to increase; grinning as he felt the walls of Pharma’s valve reflexively tense around his spike. With each thrust back into the drenched, taut valve, the head of Tarn’s spike teasingly brushed against the interior node, momentarily coating it with transfluid.

“Well, Pharma, don’t let me stop you,” the tankformer hummed, tilting his head to the side slightly to coax the flier to continue what they had been doing a few moments before.  
Pharma didn’t need to see Tarn’s face to know he was grinning. The very tone of his awfully pleasant voice gave Pharma another shudder of charge that ran straight through his systems. The mask pressed tight to his lips and all he could do was moan outrageously loud against its wet surface, which he gave a wanton lick. He really, really wished Tarn wouldn’t be wearing the damn thing and would frag his mouth with his glossa, just as he was ramming himself into Pharma’s valve.

He didn’t even realise how much he loved this part. That between the threats to his life, the humiliation of taking his freedom away, the mere, intimidating and horrible presence of Tarn, he, Pharma, was desperately in need of getting fragged like this. Hard, thorough, unrelenting.

“Tarn….yes, Tarn…!”

he couldn’t think of any other words, his hips quivering with strain under Tarn’s tight grip.  
The tankformer was made just right, at least in this. Pharma tried to reel in his frazzled processor, turbine whining into a higher gear at his back, only adding to the symphony of metal meeting metal among hungry engines and hissing ventilations.

With the utmost effort, he tightened his calipers, not all at once, but in a sort of sweeping motion, loosening and tightening in one tantalizing wave of pressure over the thick girth that he wanted to keep right there, stretching and pushing at the mesh of his valve walls.  
He knew he’d feel ashamed of how hot he got for Tarn, but that could wait until later. Delphi always did have a severe shortage of suitable partners.

For now, he kissed at Tarn’s mask, slipped further to what he could reach of the tankformer’s neck, hungry for any and everything offered to him.

The moment he felt the medijet’s mesh walls send a wave of concentrated, teasing stimulation up along the length of his spike, Tarn made a low, audible groan, pressing into the flier as deep as he could, savoring the sensation as a pulse of transfluid escaped his spike. He massaged at Pharma’s thighs, momentarily interrupting the pace he’d set of thrusting in and out of the medic to rock back and forth.  
Now the tankformer’s rough, panted ventilations were easily heard, but he still managed a contented, almost sigh.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, my clever medic?”  
Tilting his helm to the side slightly, Tarn gave the medic more room to continue gracing his neck with their fervent kisses. He resumed the pace he had set, though this time with notably more insistence. A low, hum began to seep from the DJD leader’s vocalizer, the quiet, lust-laced tune reaching out and coiling around Pharma’s spark.

The quiet tune flickered across Pharma’s spark, teasing at overload charges that Tarn could feel rising as the density and heat around his spike increased. He leaned forward just enough to keep Pharma pinned on the berth, but at the same time kept his helm craned at a slight angle.

“And how is our dear Pharma faring now…?”

That voice. Pharma could feel it reach into him, pull at his spark, stroke it with dangerously deceptive care. Every hitch of pleasurable charge, Tarn enhanced. 

The medijet pressed his faceplate against Tarn’s neck, giving another one of his charming, wanton moans. That voice could do the most awful things imaginable to bots…and it could give him the best, most addictive, intense overloads he’d ever known.

Tarn’s every coil, every thrust, it was all bringing him to an end too swift for his taste, but entirely inevitable with the thick heat pulsing inside of him, his spark erratically shuddering under the poisonous touch of Tarn’s voice, inciting even greater flights of lust in him if that was even possible.

Pharma let out a high-pitched plea, wordless and yet unmistakable asking for more, for that final little nudge that would bring him blessed relief.

Oh, those delectable little moans that Pharma made… Each one played through Tarn’s audits and seemed to feed directly to his overload charges, sending ripples of heat and stimulation through his frame. The tankformer’s senses were now a carnal, muddled mess, with his sole focus being Pharma and the wonderful tantalization that the medic’s moans and taut valve were supplying.

“Mhmn…Pharma,” Tarn groaned through rough, heady pants as he began to up the pace.  
Feeling the increase of both lubricant and tensity from Pharma’s valve, Tarn held the medic as steady as he could against his insistent thrusts. The berth itself shuddered slightly under the motions, but Tarn paid it little heed.

“” the DJD leader purred, pressing the side of his face against Pharma’s so that he could catch the medic’s parted lips in another, fervent ‘kiss’.  
A command was a command, and one given by Tarn in his damned glorious voice was not to be refused. His spark spasmed, hard, a dual source of overload for the medic from both the specially modulated frequency and the limits of his capacity regarding his anterior node. The two sources of extreme pleasure clashed into each other, creating an abundance of unstable current that slowly dispersed all over the shuddering medic.

Pharma had clenched Tarn’s spike so tight as if it was the last thing holding him from falling into the pull of a singularity.

Or perhaps that was an exaggeration of his addled mind, but he kissed at Tarn’s mask with reckless abandon, fingers scrabbling even though he knew the mask would never stop being between them. Between the trembling convulsions, Pharma moaned, right against Tarn’s mask, optics dimming after one brightly overcharged pinnacle of a moment.

The clench lessened, Pharma’s transfluid making a sticky mess of his own array. His arms were loosely wrapped around Tarn’s neck, his vents wide open and furiously sucking in air.  
As Pharma’s valve cinched around his spike tightly, a low, shuddering groan thrummed from the tankformer’s chassis, and Tarn made repeated, hard thrusts into the medic, savoring every moment of the flier’s overload. He let his Voice continue to tease and tantalize, drawing out the other’s ecstatic pleasure as far as he could.

Relishing the feel of the hot, intense pulses of lubricant, Tarn let Pharma writhe and wail in delight against him. Under normal circumstances, he would have snapped the blasphemous digits off that pawed so carelessly at his mask, but this…well, this was one of the few times that Pharma got a little bit of leeway.

When the medic relaxed, Tarn simply chuckled and adjusted his grip on the flier’s trembling thighs.  
“I’m going to suggest that you hold on a bit tighter than that,” the tankformer murmured through short pants.

Without waiting a klik more, Tarn resumed the rough pace he’d set, his own, burning overload charges, so near their peak, providing an extra level of intensity.

He should have expected Tarn to carry on like that, but Pharma had been fairly hard-pressed to do any thinking during the last minutes and he was hardly coming down from his overload when Tarn resumed his hurried pace, chasing his own pleasure despite already having spent the medijet.

At least Pharma could cling tightly to him, fingers grasping at those wide treads as his frame, fragile only in comparison to the massive tankformer, was used with the same fervent need that he had displayed only moments ago.

Pharma could do nothing but hold on, moan as his poor nodes were overly stimulated and hope Tarn would sooner rather than later fill him up with transfluid.

Clutching tightly at the medic, Tarn briefly shuttered off his optics, letting himself submerge in the wild, carnal release as his overload peaked. With a guttural groan, the quickened pace that Tarn had set devolved into rough, shuddering thrusts, transfluid pulsing from his throbbing spike into Pharma’s lubricant soaked valve. His own lubricant dripped down his inner thighs in thin rivulets, and Tarn made a gritted grin behind his faceplate.

In the midst of his release, Tarn buried his faceplate against the side of Pharma’s neck, rough snarls pulling from his vocalizer. One hand gripped at the medic’s thigh tightly, while the other stroked at the armor it had been clutching at so fervently moments before.

As his overload began to finally wind down, Tarn braced himself against the berth with one hand, not wanting to put his full weight on the flier’s much more delicate frame. Ventilation systems kicking into overdrive, the tankformer carefully let his grip on Pharma’s thigh relinquish as he raised up, optics shuttering back online.

For a few kliks, Tarn gazed down at the exhausted medic underneath him, an almost…oddly familiar look in his optics. Reaching up with his free hand, he lightly ran his index digit tip along Pharma’s jawline, studying the other in silence.

“…you always did give every job the utmost of performance,” Tarn murmured with a short chuckle.  
Immediately pulling himself from his thoughts, Tarn shifted his hips slightly, and, with a low moan, slide out of Pharma.

As Tarn slipped free of him, Pharma gave a low moan of regret. He felt so empty all of a sudden, and his berth was soaked with unsavoury fluids. Knowing Tarn, he wouldn’t care for the doctor’s further comfort, now that he had gotten what he probably brought Pharma aboard for.  
His interface panel closed, cleaning protocols whirring into life. As Tarn spoke, the medic’s mind returned to him only sluggishly.

Pharma sat up as much as possible, not one to lounge before a monster.  
“I hope you don’t intend for me to perform that service for all of your division.”

Regaining his composure as his own interface panel slid shut and cleaning protocols activated, Tarn appeared to be far more interested in the small, cosmetic scar of the surgical weld and how it had held up throughout the entire coupling.

It was only when Pharma sat up and spoke that Tarn lifted his gaze slightly, looking over at the medic with an almost amused expression from behind his faceplate.

“Oh, no, no, Pharma,” Tarn crooned, stepping forward and gripping Pharma’s chin lightly, bringing the other’s gaze up to his. “While I may let you indulge in that little fantasy in the future, if you ask nicely, never forget that you are mine.”

Of course. How could he possibly think otherwise?  
Tarn had claimed him as his own the moment Pharma so foolishly sought him out that first night, pleading for a deal that was bound to end in his own doom. The doom of his career, the doom of his medical morality…and now, the demise of his freedom.  
His gaze lingered, defiant cerulean meeting the steady burning ember behind that mask.  
The only thing that remained positive about all of this was the fact that if Tarn treasured him, for his use or his pleasure, he wouldn’t be finding out how each and every one of the DJD members killed their victims.

“You’ll never own my spark.”


End file.
